


as long as you’re still burning bright

by DragonNinjaAri



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Established Relationship, Multi, Polyamory, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-11
Updated: 2012-04-11
Packaged: 2017-11-03 10:57:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonNinjaAri/pseuds/DragonNinjaAri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the dead of winter, sometimes all you need is a little body heat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	as long as you’re still burning bright

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written March 27th, 2011. Prompt: supernatural, rule 63 au (you pick who gets 63’d and who doesn’t). Dean and Castiel Rule 63, everyone else their canon genders.

Deanna's favorite places to travel in the winter time are, statistically,  _not_  those with snow. Not those with snow, not those with crappier motel service than even she's used to, not those where a night out in Baby would lead to frostbite. It would be easy enough to haul tail and get out of this icebox of a town, but she's exhausted and Sam's exhausted and she's just finished washing the vampire blood off her clothes and hair and skin. Chopping the hair short-- it's the best idea she's ever had, but walking around with dried blood everywhere isn't exactly the best way to fly under the radar.

As she's learned from experience.

At the very least, there's a blessing in disguise with all of this; after an ill-fated rock-paper-scissors game (they're  _always_  ill-fated, damn, how does Sam win  _every single time_ ), she's drafted to ask for extra blankets (none, of course) and runs into a familiar face just finishing check in.

"Well, well, well. What brings you 'round this part of the country? Abominable Snowman's just a myth, didn't you hear?"

A scoff and snort. "Oh, you're just hilarious as ever, Deanna." A duffel over her shoulder, Jo Harvelle shifts her stance and raises her eyebrows, pursing her lips ever so slightly. Deanna's a bit hyper-aware of certain parts of her body-- like said lips.

It's been a few months since Deanna's seen the younger hunter, and it seems like every time they meet up, she looks just a bit older-- maybe not in the traditional way, but in her eyes, in her face, the way she carries herself; she's older than she should be, and each time she's a step closer.

A step closer to becoming Deanna herself.

When they're far enough from the just-started-shaving receptionist, she says, "Seriously, though, we took care of the pack here. So if that's your M.O.--"

Jo's shaking her head before the sentence is even finished. "Just passin' through. Checkin' back in at home after knocking over a shtriga in Colorado."

Deanna lets just a bit of her impressed smirk slip through to Jo's appraising eyes before getting in a little jab. "Shtriga. Well, someone's graduated to the major leagues, hasn't she?"

"Screw you." There's no malice. Jo almost sounds bored. Well, she can't have that, can she?

"A bit tired, sweetheart," Deanna replies, reaching the room she and Sam share and  pushing it open, noticing Jo starting to stray to just the room across the hall. Well, that's convenient. "Sam, we've got a visitor, it's Jo! Come out and say hi!" A groan from the nearest queen bed answers her. Her little brother is most definitely not standing up for another eight hours plus. "Ain't you a perfect gentleman?" Another groan.

Jo shrugs. "Don't worry 'bout it, I just wanna get some rest so I can get on the road asap." She clicks open her door -- which remains open as she strolls in and sets her bag down, and then moments later lets out a little indignant sputter.

Curiosity gets the better of Deanna. "What? Previous renters still there? Cockroach infestation? Porn?"

No, what she would find is, simply, a single bed with but one sheet, thin and old. Jo's surprise turns to anger in moments. "Are you kidding me? Those scumbags, they gave me-- I am going to go and rip that little punk's frickin'--"

"Whoa, whoa." From the fire in Jo's eyes, Deanna fears for a moment that she'll have to hold her back. (Well,  _fears_  in the strictest sense.) "Easy there. Break his nose and we're out on our asses. Come on, I've got an idea."

Begrudgingly, Jo follows her to the room she's sharing with Sam, who is still half-passed out face-first on the bed. Deanna snatches up the blankets and sheets from her bed and hands them to Jo, whoss eyebrows have knit together and lips curved to a growing frown.

"Well, go ahead, princess. Go on and get all snug." Jo's eyes are studying her face, looking over her, narrowed, thoughtful, and Deanna knows -- just  _knows_  -- that she's trying to find more than the teaspoon of sarcastic wit sprinkles her words with, trying to find some condescending tone or mockery.

But she won't find it. Not this time. Just sincerity.

"But then what'll you--" Jo shakes her head and crosses her arms and just says, "No. No there's-- hey, there's only one set? Hey, I've got a better idea." One finger at a time, Jo lays her hand on Deanna's arm. The grin that she's come to associate with doom (with being unable to say no to anything at all) creeps up on to the blond's face. Uh oh. "You always  _love_  getting into a girl's bed, don't you, Dee?"

Panic! Panic because no, this is Jo, this isn't someone she's picking up at a bar, this is someone she has history with and maybe will  _continue_  to have history with. "I don't think that's--"

Except that doesn't seem to work for Jo, because moments later she grabs not the blankets but Deanna's hand, her frown deepened to a scowl, and starts to pull her along. "Sam, borrowing your sister. I'll have 'er back in the morning."

Blood appears to not be thicker than water, as Sam gives a thumbs-up while Deanna internally curses him out. To be honest, she could probably pull free of Jo, but she doesn't. She lets her drag her back into her room, the dim lights still not hiding the stains on the walls, the carpet curling at the edges. Lets her close the door, lets her pull her to the bed, waits as she slips into a long t-shirt and loose pajama pants, stays right there. Even though she's got a history for shutting down the idea of doing anything with Jo, anything except that almost-time those months ago, even though, even though--

There's something so tiring about their dance, so tiring that maybe Deanna just wants to give in this once, not ignore the lingering looks and pointed stares. The dance is tiring enough when it's just the two of them. Give in, just once.

That's how Deanna Winchester ends up spooning Jo Harvelle in a dingy motel in the dead of winter. And that's the situation when a flutter of wings brings her face out of the crook of Jo's neck, cold and covered in goosebumps.

Another familiar face. Deanna can't believe she forgot-- Castiel was supposed to meet up with her and Sam, or at least she said she would. Sometimes Cas just loses track of time the way humans perceive it...

As always, she's wearing the trench coat (overcoat, excuse her) that her vessel, Jenny Novak, wore the day she said yes. It's hard to remember that this body used to be controlled by someone else, that Castiel's real form is something Deanna can never see. That the original soul housed in this body has long moved on, freed after the battle to stop the end of humanity.

"I'm sorry for intruding," she says immediately, and Deanna has to sit up, because she might leave at any second.

Jo's the first to assure Castiel, however. "You're not intruding on anything, Cas, don't worry." Ouch. Well, it's not like it's  _nothing_... "It's just cold, that's all."

"Oh." Her eyes move from one to the other. Deanna loves watching her think, wondering just what makes that angel tick. There are so many things Castiel doesn't need, as an angel, like food or sleep. Does she just fix her clothes with angel mojo? She doesn't need to wash monster blood from  _her_  hair -- thin, wavy, shoulder-length, brunette -- after joining the Winchester siblings on hunts, that's for sure. Angels. After all this time, Deanna still doesn't understand them.

Up on one elbow, her other arm trapped under Jo's body, she asks, "What took you? Not another apocalypse, right?" Cas has just began to speak when she adds, "I'm kiddin', of course. Didn' think they'd let you get away, what with all that angel-y business."

Her answer is immediate. "I always find time for you." It is earnest and genuine and true, and whether she means  _you_  as in humanity or  _you_  as in the Winchesters or  _you_  as in  _her_ , it's truly, utterly Castiel.

"It is late, however. I should let you two rest. I'll report back with updates in the morn-- what are you doing?" Cold air rushes over Deanna's arm as Jo slips out of the covers and saunters over to Castiel, grabbing at her tie and nodding at the bed. "I don't require sleep." It's a reminder, as all of them know this, after last time. "And this bed is far too small."

"We'll make due," Deanna assures, eyes traveling lazily over the two women in front of her. "Besides, the more the merrier."

Jo shoots Castiel a look that Deanna definitely does  _not_  miss, one that she's used to seeing, silent teasing, a spark as her eyes widen and then narrow. Deanna pretends not to see it; just another step in their dance, after all.

One that's even more tiring with all three of them, it seems for Castiel as well. Because she concedes after a moment, "The two of you do look cold."

"Freezin'!" She asserts as Jo settles back down into Deanna, as the two of them squeeze together and Castiel hesitantly settles in on Deanna's other side.

Maybe it's her grace, but even in this freezing weather, wind whistling against the windows, the angel's fingers are still warm, each brush against her skin sending little bursts of heat down her arms in spirals, like figure eights or sashays from dancers. Few times has she seen Castiel's wings, but at times like this, she imagines them enfolding them, wrapping about and brushing against her jaw, Jo's forehead. Is it just her imagination, though? Can she feel the wings because of the mark on her shoulder, her soul? Would Jo be able to feel them too, if she willed it hard enough? As a strand of Cas's hair tickles her neck, Deanna blows warm air into the crook of Jo's, making her squirm a bit closer.

They fit together. It's why Deanna can never resist this, this closeness. No matter how much she tries, no matter how much she tells herself she shouldn't want it, she doesn't deserve it, doesn't and can't and shouldn't--

They fit together.

They fit and she can't fight it. It just happens, never planned, the three of them. It happens, not fate or destiny or any of that crap-- just three people coming together, and maybe it says something about how far she's come, but Deanna-- she loves it.

Jo's breathing slows; she's asleep first, oddly. Just Castiel and Deanna, just the two of them. Careful not to speak too loud, careful not to disturb Jo, Deanna murmurs, "You're okay like this, right? Two of us asleep 'n all." Just Castiel and the quiet, nothing more. "Won't get...bored?"  _Lonely_? They both know what she's really asking.

And her voice is equally soft, equally gentle, equally careful as her palm rests on Deanna's exposed shoulder, the opposite of the one with that handprint, that mark on her soul that she's grown so accustom to. "Never."

Deanna's eyes close and her tense muscles relax as they always do at Castiel's touch. Nestled between them, she is safe. She is happy.

"Never."


End file.
